


Whatever Gods May Be

by Vesania94



Series: Masters Of Our Fate: The Heroines of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Betrayal, Established Relationship, F/M, Loss of Limbs, Major Character Injury, Solas Being Solas, Spoilers, Trespasser, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesania94/pseuds/Vesania94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 9:44 Dragon Age, two years after the defeat of Corypheus. Lily, Cullen, and Grace have travelled to Halamshiral for the Exalted Council, expecting bureaucracy to hamper their every step. What actually happens hits a little closer to home, as Grace unravels an assassination plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once More Unto The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _In peace there's nothing so becomes a man_  
>  _As modest stillness and humility:_  
>  _But when the blast of war blows in our ears,_  
>  _Then imitate the action of the tiger._  
>  _______  
> - _Henry V, William Shakespeare_  
> 

Warm summer breezes blew across Grace’s face as she rode slowly through the gates of Halamshiral. Her jaw was set in what she hoped was a disinterested line, and not the scathing frown she felt brewing behind the mask of the Inquisitor.

Two years. It had only taken two years for the world to forget the hole in the sky being replaced by a glowing line through the heavens. It had only taken two years for the royalty to realize that the growing power that was the Inquisition was not going to stop growing or die away in the background of obscurity. Two years for Divine Victoria to be unable to hold back the masses from calling this Exalted Council to decide the fate of the Inquisition.

The political climate was… restless at best. The Fereldan nobility were in an uproar over the King’s recent betrothal; Orlais’ power center was slowly crumbling out from beneath it as Celene tried to hold onto more and more of her nobility, the game playing out in the most dangerous fashions. Three dukes had been found murdered in their beds the week before. Grace had recently received a message from Ostwick saying that there had been coordinated attacks on the city, that her brother Derek was dead, leaving behind his new wife and unborn child; Andrew had moved the family into the country for their own safety.

Never mind that Grace and her team had spent the last two years gallivanting around both countries equally, extinguishing remaining pockets of Venatori, red Templars, and settling minor disputes. Never mind that she had personally taken the Divine out with Varric and Bull to hunt dragons that were terrorizing their territories, which neither sovereignty had deigned necessary to deal with. She had comforted their widows and orphans, assisted their citizens, and protected their boarders equally.

It was more than that, however. Her friends had slowly filtered back to their own lives, and the fortress felt less and less like home with every passing day. She felt bitter and angry at everything, each passing day seeing her frown at the rising sun. She had been avoiding telling Cullen about the Anchor, the troubling things it had started doing. She avoided telling him about the strange new power she had acquired when investigating the Frostback Basin, which had seemed to agitate it after a few months of ignoring it. The ache that had plagued her arm on the ride down to the ruins of Haven had returned, growing steadily each day. Even now as she rode carefully up to the main courtyard, she held the reins in her right hand, her left clenched in a tight fist at her waist, trying to alleviate some of the persistent, droning thrum of pain.

Stopping in front of the gold plated statue, Cullen appeared at her side, assisting her off of the unfamiliar stallion she had been riding –her dear Blinky deemed ‘too unusual’ for the formality of the talks.

“Remember to smile, love,” he whispered in her ear. She smiled weakly, the smile growing stronger as Lily bounded over, gangly legs carrying her over the ground quickly.

The smiling girl was a far cry from the frightened five-year-old Grace had found almost four years ago. Lily had recently turned nine, growing like a weed and almost as tall as Grace already; even at her tender age she was already a deadly adversary, a better shot than Leliana’s scouts, now accompanying Harding on light scouting missions through the Hinterlands.

“I think Uncle Varric is here, Mama,” Lily laughed, pointing out a distraught seneschal whose heraldry was visible even from behind the fountain, his strong Kirkwall accent ringing out, though the words weren’t distinguishable.

“I think everyone is here, Beans,” Grace corrected, rubbing her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s a big event.”

“They’re not really going to shut down the Inquisition, right? I mean, it’s the Inquisition! You can’t just shut down the Inquisition!”

“People want to go back to what they remember normal being, and unfortunately, normal did not have an Inquisition,” Grace sighed. The two of them had had this argument constantly, Lily arguing for the continuation of the one thing she had always known, Grace reasoning that after four years of dealing with nobility and politicking her way across Thedas, that she was tired of the whole mess. She wanted to settle down and not be worried about a knife in her back, to not have to be called out to deal with Maker-knows-what attacking hamlets and villages across the continent. Even if the Inquisition continued, she did not want to continue as it’s Inquisitor.

“Mama,” Lily groaned, “nothing is ever going to be normal again! Not after what we’ve seen! Not after what we’ve done!”

“Lily, we’re not talking about this right now,” Grace sighed, silencing her daughter with a look. “Josie? How much time do I have before I have to go in there?”

“Everyone is waiting for the noon bell. Both the ambassador from Fereldan, and the ambassador for Orlais are in the garden; I believe you will want to speak to them?” Josephine replied, tracing a finger down her note board.

“Excellent. Just enough time to catch up with friends?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine smiled. “I have a few of our companions I wish to catch up with myself.”

Grace let out a short laugh, playfully nudging the Antivan’s shoulder. “Go get him, you.”

Josephine walked off with a slight nod of thanks, and Grace made her way towards the ranting seneschal, trying to stifle a giggle at the man’s insistence.

“The prince of Starkhaven wrote to you again-“

“Just put that one along with the pile of letters from the Merchant’s Guild,” Varric groaned.

“And the Guard Captain wrote another letter to you… it’s impressively colorful. From what I could gather from between expletives, it’s about the safety of Miss Joanna?”

“Fuck, well that does sound like Aveline. I’ll look at that one later; gotta make sure Daisy hasn’t been shirking her duties to- Inquisitor!” Varric shouted, waving as Grace walked up, shoving the man out of his way. “Andraste’s ass, am I ever grateful to see you!”

“And the Inquisitor comes to the rescue again, I see!” Grace laughed, bending down and hugging Varric tightly. “How are you my wonderful, faithful, biographer?”

“Oh, is _that_ what they call it?” the man sighed, pinching his brow.

“Oh, Songbird. This is Bran Cavin. Until recently he was the viscount of-“

“ _Provisional_ viscount,” Bran corrected.

“- of Kirkwall,” Varric finished, scowling.

“Until recently? What, is Hawke back?” Grace asked, cocking her head to the side in a question.

“Messere Hawke and her husband have not been heard from in several months, Inquisitor. No, I have resumed my post as seneschal now that Master Tethras has been elected viscount.”

That took a moment of processing. “You’re the viscount of Kirkwall now?”

“Well it seems like the two of you have a great deal to discuss… I’ll just leave you to that then,” Bran sighed, walking off.

“So,” Grace laughed, “how’d you manage that one?”

“Well, it turns out if you fund enough reconstruction efforts in a city-state, the nobles give you the worst job imaginable,” Varric said, shaking his head.

“Oh please, Varric. I’m sure you’re doing wonderfully.”

“I think the nobility figured, after Dumar’s execution and Hawke’s resignation, ‘What’s the worst that could happen if we put the dwarf in charge?’” Varric sighed. “They voted me in because I got the harbor and the busineses up and running again. They want shit fixed, and I can do that. Besides, it’s not like there’s not a precedent for dwarves on the surface holding valuable political offices already; thank you Warden-Commander,” Varric muttered as an addendum. “Anyway I was hoping I’d catch you before all this mayhem got underway. I’ve got a present for you!”

Grace grinned widely. “Maker preserve me, what could I have done to earn the favor of the illustrious Viscount Tethras?”

“Saved my ass more times than I could count? Patched the giant hole in the sky? Literally rose from the dead in front of my eyes? Take your pick, Songbird,” Varric laughed loudly. “It’s official recognitions of your title and holdings in Kirkwall. Congratulations! You’re a Comtesse now!” Varric announced, handing her a roll of parchment dripping in ribbons and seals. Grace raised an eyebrow as she flicked it open, trailing a finger along her name written in bold black ink.

Bran walked up looking worried. “You can’t actually do that without–“

“Too late! Already did it!” Varric chuckled, waving the seneschal off. “You should come stop by Hightown some time to see your estates. They’re pretty nice! For Kirkwall, anyway. Friend of mine used to slum there, but we got it fixed up really nice. Even cleared out the slaver skeletons.”

“Proper dispensation of empty estates is supposed to–“

“You were leaving us to _talk_ , remember?” Varric groaned, waving Bran off again. There was a grumble from the man, but he left them alone once again. Grace rolled her eyes dramatically.

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t give your friends lavish titles day, Varric! I’ve already got several of my own doing, and they’re all weighty enough as it is!”

“Oh, but Lady Hunter Inquisitor First-Thaw, what kind of viscount would I be if I didn’t abuse my power to give shit to my friends? I have traditions to uphold! Oh, which reminds me–“ he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large ornate gold key, “– It’s the key to the city.”

“No! No, no! You can’t give that away without approval from the council! It-“ Bran yelled, running over.

“It’s just symbolic, Bran. Give it a rest!” Varric interrupted.

“It controls one of the giant chain nets in the harbor.”

Grace and Varric looked at the large key in her hand, blinking at it momentarily.

“That’s… actually a hell of a lot cooler than I thought it would be!” Varric laughed.

“Can I try it out?” Grace asked, grinning wickedly.

“No!”

“Yes!” Varric said simultaneously. Bran threw his hands up in defeat and stalked away in the direction of the tavern. Varric continued to chuckle and looked over towards Grace. “So what do you think, Songbird? Appropriate offerings?”

“This piece of documentation is all well and good, Varric, but I’m far more interested in this bundle of parchment,” she laughed, pocketing both the key and the title. He cocked his head at her in a question and then took a step back as Grace pulled a worn paperback from the inside of her bag, a page marked with a large red ribbon. The garishly colored picture on the front of it showed a black-armored mage and a Templar pressed against each other in a tangle of limbs in a wooded clearing. The title, emblazoned in red letters read ‘ _Above The Call of Duty: The Hunter becomes the hunted’_.

“Oh… That.”

“You conniving little shit!” Grace yelled, throwing the book at him. It fell open to the page where red ink circled a large paragraph. “I told you, I would hunt you down if this ever made it to print!”

“N-now Songbird let’s not be to hasty! I’m not that easy of a guy to find-“

“May I remind you that finding people was exactly what I was trained for?” Grace interrupted, backing Varric towards the fountain behind them. His arms wobbled as he bumped into the stone lip that kept the water from spilling out.

“I had editors jumping down my throat!”

“Do your editors taste like fireballs, dwarf?”

“Grace, please! Be reasonable!”

“If I _ever_ find any other piece of my personal life inside one of your grubby little smut-filled bodice rippers,” Grace threatened, backing him further into the fountain. Varric floundered and tripped, falling into the center of the fountain, torrents of water cascading onto his head. He spluttered, wiping hair from his eyes as Grace doubled over in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes.

“You should have seen your face! Oooh Maker, that was worth every second!”

“You bitch!”

“Worth _every_ second.”

Varric hauled himself out of the fountain, sitting next to her with a damp squish. “I knew you were taking all that nobility stuff too well… Did you at least read the damn –what was the phrase you used? Grubby little smut-filled bodice ripper?”

“Oh of course. I particularly liked the part where the Seeker protects the loving newly weds from discovery from the Chantry. Very touching. Very cute,” Grace smirked, thumbing through the pages. “Cullen wasn’t as thrilled about this part.”

“Aaah the wedding night. Did I guess accurately based on the vocaliza- OW.” Grace thumped him hard on the head with the book, flipping back to the page she had been on.

“That’s what you get for eavesdropping, you inconsiderate arse.”

“So I _was_ right.”

Grace glared at him, snapping the book shut. “Arse.”

“Whatever floats your collective boat, Songbird. I won’t judge,” Varric laughed, elbowing her gently. “Now you better go talk to everyone else before you have to head inside. And send Beans over. I need to hug that tiny human.”

“Will do, Varric… Oh, and I picked up a copy of this for Her Reverence, as well. Cass is going to have a field day when she gets this!” Grace called back, walking over towards the gardens where she saw Cullen and Lily cavorting around in front of the diplomats’ pavilions.

Her eyes narrowed as she came upon the scene in front of her. A large grey and white mabari hound was chasing Lily around, bounding after a large colorful ball that Cullen had thrown.

“Lily no! She’s supposed to dodge it, not catch it! If this was one of your mother’s fireballs you’d both be dead!” Cullen yelled, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh! Grace! How is Varric?”

She ignored his poor attempts at deflection. “This is so typical. I’m gone for ten minutes, and you’ve found a dog,” Grace sighed, watching Lily bounce around with the mabari, throwing the ball in ever more complicated. Cullen looked at her pleadingly.

“I couldn’t just _leave_ her here. The store keep said she had been abandoned, and I couldn’t just leave another Ferelden here, unable to escape.”

“Maker’s mercy, Cullen. You and dogs!” Grace groaned. Lily bounced over with the mabari trailing not far behind.

“Mama! Mama, can we keep her? Please?” The little girl hugged her father’s shoulders and they both looked at her with large, desperate eyes. Lily’s lower lip even trembled.

“Please?” they both whined in unison. Grace scowled.

“You’ve been practicing that, haven’t you?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Cullen laughed standing up and sweeping Lily around to his front, where he set her down on the stone. Grace looked at them for a moment, and then at the dog that had walked up to her, plopping the ball at her feet. After letting sufficient time for them to sweat over her decision-making, she sighed and looked at Cullen.

“Fine.” Lily gave a squeal of delight, running up to hug Grace tightly, her excitement so loud and vocal that Grace was forced to shout over it. “I’m not walking her! And what’s her name anyway? Does she have one?”

Lily ran back to the mabari, hugging the dog tightly. “I’m gonna call her Lady. Because she’s as pretty as you Mama!”

The sentiment caused Grace to snort with laughter, shaking her head as Cullen approached her to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you, love.”

“Oh course, my wonderful Ferelden Dog-Lord,” she snickered. “Alas, that I must live amongst such heathens.”

“I’m not a heathen, Mama!” Lily protested, rolling away from Lady and chucking the ball across the courtyard. “Aunt Cassie says that heathens don’t believe in the Maker!”

“Speaking of your many aunts and uncles, Varric wants to see you! And slow down!” Grace called after her daughter, who was now sprinting after the mabari at a full tilt. “Maker, why did we put her in training alongside your troops, Cullen? She’s faster than I am!”

“It wasn’t my idea, if you recall.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of how you’re wrapped around her little fingers,” Grace laughed kissing him gently. “I’m off to talk to the diplomats, would you mind figuring out where everyone else is? I know Cass is currently sequestered off on some lower balcony, Josie’s off seeing Blackwall and I’ve seen Varric. Which reminds me, this is probably safer with you.”

She pulled out the rolled document and key and handed them to Cullen who looked at them in confusion.

“I recognize- no. No I am not going back there!” Cullen all but shouted, stuffing the document back into Grace’s hands.

“I wasn’t suggesting that! I just don’t want to lose them, or damage them. I’m fairly sure that seneschal of Varric’s would kill me if I did.”

“Varric’s? _Varric Tethras_ is the Viscount of Kirkwall?” Cullen blustered, recoiling even farther from the innocent pieces of paper. “Maker preserve me, I’m not strong enough for this.”

“Neither am I. I have enough titles as it is without adding ‘Comtesse’ alongside them. And I’m sure you’ll never want to step foot in that estate –never mind the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion it was Hawke’s husband’s home– but it doesn’t hurt to have a backup plan if things go down the drain!” Grace argued, handing him the documents again. “Just keep them safe, and we can discuss what we’re going to do with it later. At the least, we send a little over there in way upkeep, in case anything should happen.”

“I’m not going to set foot in that building. I’m not setting foot in that _city_!”

“I don’t want you to think you have to. At this point, it’s too late to argue, the estate is already in our name,” Grace sighed. “I’m not saying we go. I’m not suggesting we ever go. I would never ask that of you, Cullen. I’m just asking you to hold onto some pieces of parchment, and a hunk of metal that may or may not operate the chains in the harbor…” She fumbled the last sentence, her face reddening as his grew ever more pale.

“Oh I am definitely not strong enough for this,” Cullen groaned. “Fine. I’ll keep them safe.”

“Thank you, love,” Grace whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Now I really must go speak to the diplomats.”

“Go, you silver-tongued witch,” Cullen chuckled, kissing her forehead. “I’ll make sure Lily doesn’t disrupt you.”

Grace turned with a smile, subtly clenching her left hand, trying to gain some semblance of control as a bolt of pain shot through it. This was going to be a long day.


	2. The Game's Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game's afoot:  
> Follow your spirit, and upon this charge  
> Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!

She approached the Ferelden tent with a little trepidation, noting that Arl Teagan, a man she had previously spoken to about these matters, was the center of attention. The Arl was harsh, more than a little irritating, and insufferably, i _nsufferably_ stagnant in regards to his political position, fiercely loyal to the crown and the Bannorn.

_Bugger the fucking Bannorn._

“Ah, Inquisitor Trevelyan!” He called out, trying to sound friendly.

“Arl Teagan. Thank you for seeing fit to attend this summit,” Grace said in her most diplomatic voice possible. “We’re grateful that Ferelden is so interested in the structure of the Inquisition.”

“Surely you can understand why a military structure that has no ties to Fereldan or Orlais has our guard up? Your continued existence goes against everything Fereldan stands for," Teagan hissed.

“Our continued existence has done nothing but keep Ferelden and Orlais from the brink of collapse, Arl Teagan,” Grace snapped back, immediately regretting the words. “None the less, I understand your position. We have power, and I can see why that would cause concern.”

“Inquisitor, that is quite-“

“Have you ever fought a dragon, Arl Teagan?” Grace asked quickly, trying to act nonchalant. Josie would have her head if she knew how absolutely horrible she was acting towards the Arl.

“No, Inquisitor, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“I’ve killed thirteen now, not including the corrupted one that was under the control of Corypheus. I find that the most amazing part of them is the huge rush when the sweeping wings pull you in, knowing that at least forty villagers have died in this very same manner. I have a feeling that this council will go much the same,” Grace mused, giving a quick bow. “They say to never wake a sleeping dragon, Messere; and from experience I can say that’s an accurate expression… now if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with the Orlesian diplomat. Have a nice morning, ser.” Grace practically ran away from the Ferelden tent, praying to Andraste that the conversation did not come back to bite her.

The Orlesian diplomat was invariably a more pleasant conversation, if only for the presence of one such very friendly Tevinter.

“Dorian!”

“Inquisitor! How long has it been? No, don’t tell me, I despise feeling old,” Dorian laughed, gripping her in a tight hug.

“Enjoying the Exalted Council, Ambassador Pavus?” Grace laughed, slapping him on the back.

“Oh, I’m riveted.”

“That’s the dearest, most wonderful Tevinter I know and love. And Duke Cyril, it’s wonderful to see you again. I believe the last time we saw each face to face was the ball, so long ago. You look like you are doing well,” Grace said, shaking hands with the Orlesian ambassador.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. I am eager to see the Inquisition flourish under the respectful guidance of Orlais.”

“Respectful guidance? So you do not believe that the Inquisition, an organization with members from all countries, should continue to rule itself, as a unifying power?” Grace asked, one eyebrow arching skyward.

“While I agree with Orlais’ general position, Inquisitor,” Duke Cyril backtracked, nodding a slight bow towards Grace, “I have not forgotten the death of Divine Justinia. I lost many friends at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I would rather the Inquisition join us freely, rather than be carved into pieces for the chessboard.”

“Your honesty does you credit, Duke Cyril,” Grace smiled, nodding at the Orlesian. “Now, if you’d excuse the Ambassador and I, I would very much like to catch up with my friend.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

The pair watched the nobleman walk slowly away before Dorian heaved a sigh.

“I’m leaving, you know.”

“I had guessed. What happened?”

“My father is dead,” Dorian sighed. “Assassinated I think.”

“Shit, Dorian,” Grace whispered, her face crumpling slightly, “I know it was complicated but, I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a father, even one that wasn’t close to you.”

“Apparently this Ambassadorship is his doing… didn’t want me in Tevinter when everything went down, I suppose. Still, I never expected him to keep me as his heir.”

“His heir? You’re an actual Magister now?” Grace questioned, slightly shocked. Dorian looked at her and rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Magister Pavus, at your service, Inquisitor.”

“That’s… wow. What are you going to do up there?”

“First,” Dorian hissed, scowling at the horizon, “I find the bastards that killed my father, and I kill them. Then I find the bastards who are destroying Tevinter and I kill them. They’ll most likely be the same people, so that will make things slightly easier.”

They stood their for a moment, before Grace put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I wish I could help you.”

“You have enough problems in the here and now, and you also have Lily, that darling, darling girl. I can’t ask you to abandon that. Besides, you’d up and steal all of my glory,” he chuckled, cuffing her chin lightly with a finger. “No, I have to do this by myself.”

“And Bull?”

“We’ll work it out. Big softie was heartbroken when I told him, but it’s just… too dangerous. I’m enough of a threat as it is, but with a giant qunari alongside me? I’d be asking for an assassination attempt. I already am.”

Grace smirked and shook her head. “When are you leaving?”

“After the Council is over.”

“Then I wish you all the luck in the world, and the safest travels, my dear friend,” Grace said, drawing Dorian into a hug. He reciprocated, and then extracted himself, blustering a bit.

“Oh come now, I have a little present for you. A going away present.” He removed a small gold locket from his pocket, the middle split by a strangely colored pink-red gem. “It’s a sending crystal. If I get in over my head, or should you pine for the sound of my velvety voice, _magic_.”

“Cheap words from a magister,” Grace laughed, slipping the necklace into a pocket. “I’ll keep this safer than I will the key to Kirkwall. Thank you, Dorian.” They both looked up as a loud clang resounded around the courtyard. “That’s the noon bell. It’s show time.”

“Maker smile down on you, Grace Rutherford,” Dorian laughed, “You’ll need it.”


	3. Another Fall of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,  
> To mark the full-fraught man and best indued  
> With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;  
> For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like  
> Another fall of man.

The interior of the palace was a stark difference from the warm outside, the ballroom that had been once lit with a thousand candles now looking bleak and austere in the sunlight streaming through windows and over balconies that held the memories of stolen kisses, violent battles, and unforgivable betrayals. Cassandra, now Her Perfection the Divine Victoria sat upon a large sunburst chair, familiar scars and bright eyes smiling down at Grace as she entered the room, bowing low. The anchor quietly spat a little, causing her to wince.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

“Your Reverence.”

Cassandra motioned towards a small table, where Josephine stood, shuffling papers. Grace approached it and sat down, shifting slightly to the side as an errant beam of reflected sunlight shot into her eyes. Her arm throbbed.

“Are you alright Inquisitor?” Josephine whispered, handing Grace a small sheaf of documents. Grace looked up and cracked a wry smile.

“I’m fine. Anchor’s acting a bit strange is all. You know how it’s been a bit twinge-y since the Basin?”

“You really should speak to the Commander about this, my Lady,” Josephine sighed, shaking her head slightly. “He should know.”

“I don’t want to worry him.”

They both looked up as there was a sharp rap of knuckles on wood. The two ambassadors had entered and taken their seats. The Exalted Council had begun.

The talks stretched on over the hour, the sun slowly sliding over the tiled floor and casting shadows over the table. They had gotten nowhere, neither side conceding or compromising as the arguments became more petty and frivolous with each passing minute. The Anchor continued to spit, sharp shooting pains now drawing Grace’s every attention at spare moments, radiating up her arm like needles being forced through her bones.

Arl Tegan had been drawing some long-winded and sordid conclusion about the Duke’s position in the talks when green finally leaked from her glove and she doubled over the table, gritting her teeth with a barely contained grunt. Her right hand curled into a fist as her eyes watered. Josephine looked at her with concern and a small trace of horror as Grace stood and started pacing, tucking her arm at her side. The door opened, and Cullen came through, slightly pale and obviously shaken. He motioned for her to walk over to him and she walked over, nodding at Cassandra briefly.

“What’s wrong? Is Lily okay? Did she hurt herself?“

“She’s fine. There… there’s been an incident that requires your immediate attention, Inquisitor.”

Grace squeezed her left hand tighter as the pain returned with a vengeance, subtle sparks spilling from her glove.

“We’re in the middle of the talks. Someone had better have died or-“

“If only that was the least of our concerns here. Grace, you need to come see this, _now_.”

“Give me a second.”

She turned and walked back towards Josephine, who was crinkling a piece of paper in her lap, nerves getting the best of their cool and collected ambassador.

“Josie, something’s happened, I have to go.”

“Inquisitor!” Josephine hissed, “you can’t! We’ll lose any ground that we might have managed to win!”

“It’s enough that Cullen saw fit to interrupt the talks to tell me, so obviously it’s important. Call for a recess if you have to.” Grace straightened and looked at Cassandra silently, hoping that the subliminal message would get through. “I beg your pardon, your Grace, but I must be excused. There is a pressing matter that requires my attention.”

Cassandra nodded, smiling slightly. “We could all use a break, I feel. We will resume this later. I call a recess.”

Grace followed Cullen out of the doors towards one of the smaller outbuildings, where a small crowd had gathered. They moved inside, where Cassandra was already standing alongside Leliana, both looking intensely at the bloodied corpse of a qunari.

“What in the void is this?” Grace asked, kneeling down next to the body. “Talk to me Leliana. What am I looking at?”

“A qunari warrior, in full armor, as you can see. This is not a spy though, he is one of the antaam, the military,” Leliana responded promptly.

“Most of these wounds seem to be magical, but there are plenty of blademarks,” Grace mused, lifting a ragged piece of leather. The anchor sparked violently, and she hissed through the pain, backing up towards the opposite wall. Cullen looked at her, concern evident in his eyes.

“It seems he was badly hurt, and separated from his allies, and made it here before he died. The only remaining question is how.”

“Bull wouldn’t know anything because of being Tal-Vashoth… damn, this raises too many questions. We need to find out what’s going on,” Grace sighed, straightening. “Can Josie handle the diplomats while I look around? And get Varric, Dorian, and Bull together, and tell them to get ready. I want people at my back should this go south.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Leliana bowed slightly and walked out of the room, leaving only Cassandra, Cullen and Grace.

“I will try to extend the recess as long as I can,” Cassandra sighed. “We can never just have one boring political meeting, can we, eh Grace?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s in my contract, Cass,” Grace chuckled sadly, “Inquisitor: must deal with the weirdest shit imaginable, at the most inopportune of times.”

It earned her a wry smile, and Cassandra nodded towards Cullen, following Leliana’s footsteps.

He stood in silence for a moment, watching Grace’s heaving shoulders as she breathed through pangs of misery, her hand spitting and sparking as she tried to relax.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Grace groaned, beginning her pacing once again as she bounced her hand at her hip, hoping movement would encourage the blunt tearing sensation to stop.

“That bloody mark on your hand. It’s getting worse isn’t it?”

“Cullen-”

“Don’t lie to me, Grace.” His voice was low and threatening, and she could hear a bit of the fatherly growl he had picked up from lecturing Lily peeking through. She inhaled slowly and stopped pacing.

“Yes.”

He approached her slowly taking her left hand and rubbing it gently between his. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, gentler this time.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she said meekly, dropping her head.

“And now there’s nothing for me to do but worry.”

“Yeah,” Grace sniffed. “And this isn’t the most romantic of places to be having this conversation, compliments to our bloodied friend here.”

“I’ll get Lily somewhere safe. Take her to see Madame de Fer, maybe. Supposedly there’s a spa day waiting for you, but I’m sure this takes precedent.”

“Everything takes precedent nowadays,” Grace groaned, taking a step back and bending down to look at the droplets of qunari blood that covered the tiles. “This is just the most recent addition to my list, and it’s still fresh, so I’d better hurry up.”

Cullen walked out ahead of her, scooping up an overly curious Lily who had wandered over with the crowds. Grace shut the door securely behind her, and followed the trail of blood towards a slightly broken lattice as Varric, Dorian, and Bull wandered up behind her.

“He came over the railing, Boss,” Bull said, pointing at a broken pile of wood. Grace shook her head and started up the lattice, hand over hand as she reached the open window above her.

“Dorian! Find another way up here! And tell Cullen to send some men!”

“What is it?”

Grace looked at the active eluvian, eyebrows furrowed in trepidation.

“Not good, that’s what it is. We may have more of a situation here than originally thought.”


	4. March To The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.  
> March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:  
> Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,  
> And on to-morrow, bid them march away.

Minutes went by that felt like hours as Grace stood in front of the glowing mirror, pacing back and forth like a cornered animal, waiting for either her friends to emerge from the stairwell to her left, or for something to emerge from the mirror to her right. The anchor made a kind of chirping, swishing noise as it grew more and more painful.

Finally Dorian mounted the landing with Bull and Varric close behind, and the snapping sounds of Inquisition soldier’s boots.

“Inquisitor!” One of the soldiers snapped to attention and saluted her.

“Guard this room until we return. If anything comes through that isn’t my companions or me, it dies. Understood?” Grace instructed as the troops formed a semi-circle around the mirror. “And no one comes into this room either, unless it’s the Commander or Sister Nightingale. Under no circumstance are either to follow us.”

“Understood, Inquisitor!”

Grace turned, took a deep breath, and stepped through the rippling surface.

She opened her eyes, expecting to see the same crossroads she had seen two years previously, but the landscape in front of her eyes was fractured and broken, crumbling into dust in some areas, merely in disarray in others.

It was a decaying beauty.

“Holy shit,” she heard Bull whistle behind her. “That’s something, ain’t it?”

“It’s falling apart,” Grace whispered, feet mechanically following the blood trail towards a darkened eluvian, its surface coated in blood. She ran her hand over it, tapping gently on the glass. “Our friend tried to come through here.”

“What does that one not like you or something?” Bull asked, tapping on the side of the mirror with slight hesitation.

“It’s not broken, so it must be inactive. There should be some way to unlock it, but I don’t know the key. The other one was either left open accidentally, or intentionally. If it was accidentally, then that’s bad. If it was intentionally, that’s worse,” Grace reasoned, turning and searching the broken landscape. She recognized the glimmer of an active eluvian to their right, and moved back up the stairs towards it.

“Where are we going, Songbird?” Varric complained, splashing through the low stream that separated the first landing and the small walkway to the other eluvian.

“I have no idea. But we need to secure this eluvian at the least.”

They skidded to a stop at the next eluvian, the blood heavier around this one.

“In we go?” Grace asked, turning to her companions. Varric shrugged, and Dorian and Bull grinned at each other.

“Right behind you, Grace,” Dorian said confidently, stepping towards the mirror. With a pained grin, Grace pushed through the second eluvian, to what she did not know.

 

Cold, damp air assaulted her nose as they stepped into a darkened hallway, a glowing archway ahead of them, streaming with sunlight.

“Elven ruins. I don’t think we’re even in Orlais anymore,” Grace mused, turning around in the hall.

“Well, wherever we are, this place is creepy,” Bull replied, running a hand over the stone. They approached another body, which he flipped and prodded. “Karashock. Foot soldier. Probably from the same squad as our other guy.”

“Well that means there are likely more corpses about. Let’s find out where our friends have come from.”

They slowly made their way up the stairs, coming to an exterior landing. The landscape rocked as a huge blast echoed through the valley.

“Maker’s breath,” Grace cursed quietly, looking at the scene that lay before them. A smoking crater lay between the petrified and crackling stone bodies of four qunari. “There are scorch marks everywhere. This was the work of a mage.”

“A powerful one, as well. I can still feel the heat crackling off the stones,” Dorian muttered, walking towards the next eluvian. They pushed through it, now exiting onto a small stone island, flanked by elaborate wolf statues, a pedestal with a smashed stone idol.

“What is- these are statues for that Dalish trickster god!” Grace remarked, running her fingers over sun-warmed sandstone. “Fen’Harel, if memory serves. And look, more qunari! We have to get across to that island.”

“There’s another one of those mirrors over here, Songbird,” Varric said, moving down a short flight of stairs. They pushed through, finding more corpses and a strange glowing figure at the top of a flight of stairs.

“The elves bound a spirit here?” Dorian questioned as they approached. “It feels old. Very old.”

The spirit looked at Grace and started speaking in elvhen, which Grace could only translate the barest of fragments.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you,” she apologized.

The spirit shouted at her, swinging the ethereal hammer it carried, knocking her backwards. Her barrier sprung into place alongside a massive mindblast, which rocked the stones they stood on. She could feel the bruising on her ribs throb as they fought the spirits, fire blazing across the ground and barriers snapping around her and her comrades, finally ending when the last spirit fell.

“Those spirits attacked us like we were intruders!” she gasped, pumping a healing spell through her battered chest.

“Well, to be honest, we kind of are,” Varric commented, hauling Dorian to his feet.

Grace wasn’t listening. As she had rounded a corner, she had been met with a large green mosaic, depicting a wolf. Something called to her, and she stretched out her hand, the mark activating as it would for a rift. Feelings and images washed over her, causing her to stagger back and watch as the mosaic dissolved before her eyes.

“That was like veilfire… it claimed this was a refuge. For elven slaves.”

“The ancient elves had slaves?” Varric balked. “Maker’s breath. One more thing to never tell Daisy.”

“Supposedly it was created by the Dread Wolf. It was a place of safety made by Fen’Harel,” Grace whispered as she moved through the doorway, towards another eluvian.

Slipping through, she saw the same lake they had stood on, and the tower they had already visited.

“They can go any distance, I guess,” she mused, running her fingers over the stone again. There was a strange twinge from the mark, almost forlorn in a way.

“It’s certainly useful. But think of it this way, what a change of pace, my darling! A beautiful view, a clear sky, and yes–“ he inhaled deeply before doubling over with a powerful sneeze “–fields and fields of stripweed as far as the eye can see!”

“Did you forget your handkerchief, Kadan?” Bull asked tenderly. Dorian glared at him.

“I don’t need it, you lumbering brute. I’m not allergic to- to–“ he sneezed violently again. Bull produced a small white square from a pocket, and Dorian took it grudgingly, blowing his nose. “Ugh… thank you, amatus.”

“Stripweed?” Grace asked, moving up the stairs more, and passing broken stones.

“Looks like grass, stings like an insect, and opens sores that won’t close for a week if you so much as brush against it,” Dorian explained, blowing his nose again. “So of course, everyone in Minrathos thinks it makes a delightful tea.”

“He’s allergic,” Bull supplied, rubbing Dorian’s shoulder gently.

“ ‘m not allergic,” Dorian complained, his watering, reddening eyes speaking very differently to the claim.

Grace smiled and shook her head at the pair, turning over another corpse, and inspecting its wounds. Bull approached it and looked closer.

“He was taken by surprise. All of these wounds are at his back.”

They looked up towards the mosaic, and Grace stretched her hand out, activating it. The mosaic dissolved again, and Grace stumbled back as dusty images leaked into her mind.

“This is… Fen’Harel helping slaves as a mortal, not a god,” she explained, shaking sparks from the Anchor.

“Kinda weird this guy had to specify he wasn’t a god.”

“Helps people, accidentally founds religion. Sounds like the Chant,” Varric chuckled dryly. Grace continued to move down the corridor, fires lighting the way.

“How is it these are still lit?” She wondered aloud,

“Someone might have relit them,” Dorian volunteered. “Or it’s magic.”

“True… It looks like a storeroom. There are old weapons here, baskets of dust that might have once been food.”

They stopped as they came to yet another mosaic. Grace’s hand stretched out, and it reacted, sending her reeling with memories again.

“This one says the elven gods were just powerful mages, ‘evanuris’.”

“Whoever ran this place was trying to build the slaves’ confidence. Getting rid of old propaganda,” Bull ventured, steadying her as she shook the light from her hand again.

“If that’s true, Fen’Harel was teaching the freed slaves the truth about their false gods.”

Grace peered into the darkness, looking at a small statuette on a pedestal, surrounded by sparking glow, similar to the mark. She approached it gingerly, when it sparked towards her, and the mark flared violently. Breathing hard from the pain, she focused on dispersing the power that was surging through her hand and the entire room lit up in a powerful glow.

“You okay, Boss?” Bull asked, moving into the room. Grace was wiping her eyes as her arm throbbed.

“It’s getting worse,” Grace spat through gritted teeth. The mark spat in response.

“I thought it already was worse?” Dorian soothed, running his own weak version of a healing spell through her hand. It did little, save irritating it further. She ripped her hand from his and rocked it gently, once again hoping that the movement would dull the ache.

“Worse than worse, then,” she snapped. She moved towards the platform, her mark continuing to light up the room. “The sooner we deal with this threat, the sooner we can deal with my arm. This statue looks like the one that was smashed out by the bridge.” She reached out with her right hand, picking up the tiny idol, which was heavier than she expected. The tablet it had been sitting on rose slightly as the weight was removed, and there was a quiet puff of air that surrounded her, ghostly daggers driving towards her throat.

A barrier snapped around her at the last second, the blades glancing off of the bright blue, which distinctly thrummed with Dorian’s magic. Grace responded by snapping her own barrier around her friends, dashing backwards and unleashing a spell purge over the room, some of the spirits crying out and wilting. Others merely strengthened, and as she fought, her arm spat more and more, the green moving up her wrist, the mark growing in size, humming with power. She opened a rift, sucking the last of the spirits into the Fade, letting it close with a snap.

Her head rang, her chest heaved. Black spots clouded her vision as her arm panged more and more. She discharged it once again, the pain lessening.

“Andraste’s ass, Songbird!” Varric cursed, shoving an elfroot potion into her hand –his last, she noticed. “Stop rushing into things like you have nothing to live for!”

Grace took the vial, uncorking it and habitually sniffing it to check for magebane. She drank it slowly; enjoying the cool numbing feeling it sent through her joints. “I’m rushing into things because I have things to live for, Varric. And the sooner we take care of this, the sooner I can get back to them and make sure they’re safe.”

“We should get this to the bridge,” Bull said, picking up the tiny statuette, looking it over. “Another wolf.”

“How _dreadfully_ appropriate,” Dorian snickered. Five eyes turned and glared at him in the fading light of the mark, daring him to make another pun. “Oh phooey. You’re no fun anymore.”

Grace walked out of the door, the dull ache returning with each step as she moved back through the mirrors. What lay ahead, she did not know.


	5. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Never did faithful subject more rejoice_   
>  _At the discovery of most dangerous treason_   
>  _Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself._

Back through the eluvians, they came to the sunken bridge once more. Grace brushed the fragments of statue off of the pillar, taking the whole, weighted one from Bull and settling it down onto its platform. There was a loud scraping noise, and the pillar sunk into the ground. The earth shook the bridge was slowly raised, detritus from centuries of submersion spilling off of the stone. They picked their way through the slimy gunk towards the main tower carefully stepping over the corpses of more qunari.

Grace and Dorian both snapped barriers around the group as they heard the shouts from the qunari lookouts.

“Vashedan! The Inquisition does not leave this place alive!” one shouted, loosing an arrow towards Grace. It glanced off the barrier, shattering as she ran forward, carving a line of flames with the blade of her staff. Back to back with Bull, they hacked and slashed through the oncoming waves, felling them easily.

“They were waiting for us, Boss,” Bull said, glaring at the bodies.

“They’re still waiting for us,” she said, recharging the barriers. Her hand crackled, and she hissed, running into the tower and ripping open a new rift, sending qunari warriors scattering. Another arrow glanced off of her barrier, but instead of breaking it dissipated, and they turned to see more of the strange spirits approaching, joining the fray.

It wouldn’t have been a problem but for the sheer amount of soldiers that pummeled them, and Grace grew more and more panicked as she wrapped her fingers around her last health potion, quickly uncorking it and tipping it into her mouth, breathing hard. She breathed a sigh of relief as Bull’s axe sunk into the skull of the last warrior.

“Why did those qunari attack the ‘The Inquisition’ on sight?” she asked, wincing as her mark crackled again.

“I don’t know. They’re not Tal-Vashoth, that’s for sure,” Bull responded, pulling hard on the handle of the axe before shaking his head and picking up the fallen warrior’s sword. With a simple thud, he took off the qunari’s head and slammed it against the wall, attempting to dislodge it. Grace wrinkled her nose. “It could be, that they’re a rogue group who think they’re following the Qun.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Grace sighed, shaking her head. Bull shrugged, continuing to beat the disembodied head against the wall, finally yelling out a small whoop as it fell.

“Amatus, that was disgusting,” Dorian griped, moving past both of them up a flight of stairs.

“Part of the perks of being me,” Bull said with a laugh. The room opened up, displaying vast murals that stretched up the walls. A larger statue of Fen’Harel sat in the center, looking off eerily into the distance. Grace let her fingers dance over the colors, marveling at their preservation.

“These look like the murals that Solas painted,” she whispered, backing away from it to look at the whole picture. “Look, they depict Fen’Harel… removing the markings from a Dalish elf’s face?”

“I thought this place was older than the Dalish,” Varric wondered, turning around beside her to look at more of the room.

“Maybe the markings had another meaning?”

Dorian’s voice made her jump, as he read off of a stone slab. “The Dread Wolf keeps its gaze upon the light that illuminates the way forward. Huh, elves. Always so poetical.”

“The Dread Wolf keeps his gaze,” Grace repeated, now turning around in circles to follow the gaze of the statue, “on the light that illuminates the way forward.” She raised her hand and brought the veilfire to life, a loud sound making them all jump in shock as the statue moved backwards, its eyes sparking with the same eerie green that Grace’s hand did. A staircase still lit was revealed.

“What could this be?”

“Boss, I wouldn’t-“ Bull started. Varric shushed him gently as Grace started down the staircase, dust rising in little puffs around her feet.

“Another doorway,” Dorian said, peeking out from behind Bull. Grace had already started to remove it, staggering backwards as the memories and sensations crashed over her.

“They were slave markings,” she gasped, eyes going wide. “He was leading a slave rebellion! Look, there are weapons everywhere in here!”

“Slave rebellions, mage leaders posing as gods… I thought I had left Tevinter behind,” Dorian groaned, shaking his head. Grace knelt down, dusting off a crate of potions, uncorking one and smiling as she found them as fresh as the day they had been crafted.

“Fill your pockets, everyone. Elven magic seems to be on our side.”

They graciously replensished their stocks, freezing as a cough came from down another flight of stairs.

“We’re not alone, Songbird.”

“Probably more qunari… everyone stay quiet,” she whispered, creeping towards the next floor. She could see one silhouetted by the glow of another active eluvian. She held up her fingers, counting down until the last one, where she and Dorian both fadestepped into the middle of the room, showering the walls with electricity and flame in equal portions. Bull charged through the melee, knocking the largest one to the ground with a single swing of his axe. The fight was over in moments. Grace sank to the floor next to the corpse of the dead leader, nursing a cut that had bitten through the leather and metal of her coat, green healing magic flowing into the wound as it sealed and faded, her hand finally dropping and resting against a pouch at the dead qunari’s back. Curiosity overcame her, and she flicked it open, pulling out a rolled parchment. She recoiled violently.

“They were planning on invading the Winter Palace,” she whispered, pushing up off the floor and moving to a better light source. They came to these ruins because the eluvians lead to Halamshiral!”

“What? Anything else?”

“Nothing. At least on this,” she sighed, sifting through other pieces of paper. Nothing seemed to be relevant as Bull continued to mutter away in the background.

“I don’t understand it, they’re acting like we’re at war!”

“Are we?”

“I wish I knew, Boss. I wish I knew.”

Grace slammed her hands down on the table, pulling away as her hand came back red and sticky. She picked up the parchment in question, the lettering almost obscured by the still wet blood.

“Two hours ago, an unknown intruder penetrated our defenses,” she read aloud. “Masked and cloaked. A mage. Used magic to awaken spirits and turned them against us. Intruder moved as if they knew this place. Fled after spirits awoke. Dozens dead. Spirits keep attacking.” She put down the parchment. “Engagement not recommended.”

“Those scorch marks,” Dorian said, gripping his staff tighter.

“And that blast we felt. And all of the other dead qunari,” Grace sighed. “We should get back. We don’t know who this third party is, and whoever they are, they are obviously dangerous. And Cass needs to know about the invasion planned.”

They pushed through the eluvian, relieved when it brought them back to their original tower. They moved through the eluvian that led back to Halamshiral, grateful to leave the ruins behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, school started and I only just go to sit down with Inquisition again! I've also been filling a lot of prompts and desperately trying not to rip my hair out over our re-wedding in 2 weeks???
> 
> It's been crazy.


End file.
